The Scarlet Creation
by Sariniste
Summary: AU remix of James Bond. Ichigo Kurosaki, Agent 007, is sent by Urahara on a mission to discover the identity of the supercriminal who has stolen two atomic bombs and is planning to use them for blackmail on a world scale.
1. Chapter 1

**The Scarlet Creation – Chapter 1 **

**A/N: **AU remix of James Bond. Ichigo Kurosaki, Agent 007, is sent by Urahara on a mission to discover the identity of the supercriminal who has stolen two atomic bombs and is planning to use them for blackmail on a world scale.

This was originally written based on an idea that **VirgilTheart** had given me of a James Bond remix, and I had just watched the James Bond movie _Thunderball_, where they celebrated the festival Junkanoo in the Bahamas on Christmas night.

Ichigo is James Bond, of course. Orihime is a mix of Domino from _Thunderball _and Tracy from _On His Majesty's Secret Service_. And Aizen is a mix between Blofeld and Largo, the two major villains in _Thunderball._ Although it's a remix, I'm going to be modifying the plot substantially, so don't expect it to follow the story of either the movies or the books in any way. Especially, don't expect it to follow the sad ending of _OHMSS_. This will be mostly an adventure story/thriller but will include an IchiHime romance. There will be some mostly one-sided AiHime but nothing explicit. The romance will be slow-building and a side note to the main plot, so if you are looking for a pure romance this may not be the story for you.

The title of this story refers to the Bleach chapter where Soul Society discovers Aizen's plan to make the King's Key by destroying 100,000 souls in Karakura Town, with the destructive force of an atomic bomb.

**Other characters:** Sora will be Orihime's brother Major Derval (thanks to **Zuko Halliwell** for the correction), Rukia will be Paula (although I won't kill her off in this story), and Ishida will be Felix Leiter, Bond's good friend and sidekick from the CIA. Urahara is M, of course, and Yamamoto is the Home Secretary who is at one point willing to give into Aizen's blackmail. Szayel is the slimy atomic scientist working for the villains, and Ulquiorra and Grimmjow will make an appearance.

**Warnings:** Obviously, some OOCness as all the nakama are adults and much more worldly in this story than they are in Bleach.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Bleach_ by Tite Kubo, or _Thunderball_ , _On His Majesty's Secret Service,_ or James Bond by Ian Fleming. I use quotes directly from _Thunderball_ in several scenes in this story. All characters are 18 or older in this story.

(Originally posted 12/24/11.)

XxXxXxX

The tall, muscular young man with bright orange hair strode across the wide Nassau street in the tropical Bahamas heat toward the tall doors of the Grand Casino. Although it was December 25, Christmas Day, there was little indication of the holiday here other than strings of brightly colored lights. More attention was focused on the upcoming night when the traditional festival of Junkanoo would begin at 1 a.m. The man pushed open one of the vast double doors and walked into the sudden chill of the casino. Attired in a perfectly fitting tuxedo, he moved smoothly past the men and women glittering with heavy jewelry, hard brown eyes scanning the crowd. He paused to pluck a glass of champagne off a tray as a waiter passed by. Downing the drink, he moved forward once again.

At a roulette table, a beautiful young woman, clad in a shimmering black sheath that showed off her well-endowed figure and slender waist, sat perched on a stool, intently following the spin of the wheel. Her auburn hair, held back by two small blue star-shaped pins, hung halfway down her back in a heavy fall. She had a fat pile of hundred-dollar chips in front of her and a melancholy look in her eyes. A small frown creased her forehead. The roulette wheel slowed and stopped and the woman grimaced. The croupier cleared the layout of chips to assorted groans and laughter, then set up to spin the wheel again.

The man moved forward until he was standing directly across the table from her, and waited for her to look up and catch his eyes. After a moment, she did, gazing up at him with wide grey eyes and an apparently innocent face that was at odds with her outfit and what he had read of her in the dossier he had been given by Urahara a day or so ago.

"Bet on twenty-two," he advised her in a cool voice. She stared at him skeptically for a moment, then shrugged. In a defiant gesture, she slid her entire pile of chips forward onto the square marked "22." The man raised his orange eyebrows but said nothing. The wheel spun, lights glinting off the central shafts and the tiny, glittering ball. Everyone's eyes followed the ball, waiting as it seemed to take longer than usual to descend into its final position.

Then the croupier called out, "Twenty-two!" and a couple of people at the table applauded. The woman gave a sudden, cheerful smile that wiped away the brooding sadness in her eyes. She slid off the chair, looking up at the man with a quizzical but friendly air. She saw dark amber eyes, a scowling, cynical mouth, handsome features topped by a somewhat incongruous shock of bright orange hair, and a trim, muscular body clad in an expensive tuxedo. Another rich gambler come to play in the tropical paradise, she thought, but much better looking and younger than most. She grinned. "You've brought me luck, sir," she said. "Thank you. I was about to get in trouble there because I'd lost nearly all my stake and my, uh, guardian would have been angry."

The man gave her a half-bow. "May I buy you a drink, then?"

She gave him a level look from under thick lashes. "It seems I should buy _you_ a drink, since I'm flush now."

"As you prefer," he murmured, gesturing for her to precede him up the stairs to the bar.

Seated at a shadowed, quiet table in the back corner of the cool, dim room, the young woman ordered a double Bloody Mary and the man a vodka and tonic. She looked him over carefully as they waited for their drinks. "So," she said, gazing at him levelly, "who are you and what made you decide to help me?"

"The name's Kurosaki. Ichigo Kurosaki," he said, "and I always believe in helping damsels in distress."

Her eyes widened. "Whatever made you think I was in distress?"

"You were losing," he pointed out.

She stared at him a moment, then laughed. "When did you arrive? I haven't seen you about."

"I got in this morning. From New York. I've come to look for a property. It struck me that now would be a good time to look, while there aren't so many millionaires out here bidding up the values. How long have you been here?"

"About six months. I came here in a yacht— the _Las Noches_. You may have seen her. She's anchored off the coast. You probably flew right over her coming in to land at the airport."

"That long, low, streamlined affair? She's yours? She's got beautiful lines."

"She belongs to my guardian." The grey eyes watched Ichigo's face, shadowed once more.

"Do you stay on board?" His voice was exquisitely polite.

"No, we've taken a beach property. Just opposite where the yacht is. It belongs to an Englishman who wants to sell it. It's very beautiful. And a long way away from the tourists, out on one of the keys." She toyed with one of her hairpins.

"That sounds like the sort of place I'm looking for."

"Well, we'll be gone in about a week."

"Oh." Ichigo looked into her eyes. "I'm sorry."

She laughed. "You're quite different from all the old men around here, although they all try to hit on me too. There's no one under sixty in this place. Young people can't afford it. I imagine all the old women with blue hair will get all excited over you."

"Do they eat boiled vegetables for lunch?" He leaned forward, the hint of a scowl of distaste on his face.

"Yes, and drink carrot juice and prune juice." She frowned, her full lips turning downward.

"We won't get on, then," Ichigo said with a lazy smile. "I won't sink lower than conch chowder."

She looked at him suspiciously. "You seem to know a lot about Nassau."

He raised his eyebrows. "You mean about conch being an aphrodisiac? That's known wherever there are conchs."

"Is it true?" she asked, with a sudden return of that artless innocence that he had seen earlier, and he wondered again if it was an act, given her background.

He smiled. "Some people have it on their wedding night. I haven't found it to have any effect on me."

"Are you married?" She looked mischievous.

"No." Ichigo smiled across into her eyes. "Are you?"

"No."

"Then we might both try some conch soup sometime and see what happens." He held her gaze, still smiling. She looked away suddenly with a nervous laugh and Ichigo wondered again at the occasional awkward behavior she sometimes exhibited. She was either a superb actress or there was something else underneath her sophisticated veneer.

Their drinks came. Ichigo raised his to her and asked, "So how did you come here? Your English is excellent."

"My name's Orihime Inoue; I'm part Japanese by birth. But I was sent to school in England. My parents thought that was a ladylike way to be brought up. But then they were both killed in a car accident; my dad was driving drunk." A brief frown twisted her face. "After the lawsuits, my brother and I were left with nothing but huge debts. I was thrown out on my own to figure out a way to make a living." Her lips compressed briefly into a hard line. "I had to do what it took to survive." She looked at him defiantly. He gave her a nonjudgmental shrug and she continued. "I met my… guardian not long after that. In Capri. He's an attractive man, very confident and charismatic." She drew circles on the table with her fingertip, then met Ichigo's eyes again. "Anyway, he's here on a sort of treasure hunt."

Ichigo looked intrigued. "That sounds fascinating."

"Yes," she said, taking a large gulp of her drink. Her eyes were bright. "You must come and visit us on the yacht. His name is Aizen, Sousuke Aizen. You've probably heard of him. One of the richest men in the world, or so they say."

Ichigo gave a noncommittal shrug and smiled briefly. "I'd love to meet your guardian. Thanks for the invitation. The treasure hunt sounds rather fun. What's it all about? Have they found anything?"

It was her turn to shrug. "Who knows? He's very secretive about it. Apparently there's some kind of map, but I'm not allowed to see it. I have to go ashore whenever he's prospecting or whatever he does. A lot of people have put up money for it; I guess they're shareholders. They call themselves the Espada." She rolled her eyes. "They've all just arrived. I guess everything's finally ready and the real hunt is supposed to begin in a couple of days."

"What are they like, these shareholders?"

"A bunch of stuffy businessmen." She frowned. "Very dull and rich. They don't want to go sunbathing or anything, just spend all their time with Aizen. Plotting and planning, I suppose."

"It does sound rather boring for you," Ichigo said lightly. "What do you do all day?"

"Oh, not much. A bit of shopping, some gambling." She gave a brittle laugh. "I like underwater swimming. I have an aqualung and I like to go out and look at the reefs."

"I used to do that quite a bit," said Ichigo. "Maybe you could show me some of the good spots around here?"

Her eyes focused on something beyond Ichigo's shoulder and her body stiffened. "Maybe," she said, abruptly pushing her empty glass away. "I better go. My guardian will be looking for me." She stood up.

Ichigo stood as well. "It was nice to meet you," he said. She nodded and walked away rapidly. Ichigo shot a casual glance over his shoulder in the direction she had been looking. A slender man with shaggy black hair and brilliant green eyes was standing in the shadows, hands in the pockets of his white dress suit, his gaze on Orihime's back. Ichigo turned around before the man's gaze could meet his.

XxXxXxX

Only the day before but half a world away, Ichigo had been summoned back from his holiday into Urahara's office in London. The man was sitting behind his messy desk as usual, his shaggy hair in disarray under his silly green-and-white striped hat, looking out the window at the distant glittering fretwork of the London skyline. He glanced up. "Good; you're here, 007. Have a look at these." He slid some sheets of paper across the desk.

Ichigo sat down to look at the material. The top sheet showed the front and back of an addressed envelope that had been dusted for fingerprints. It was addressed to the Prime Minister, No. 10, Downing Street. The next sheet was the letter. He began to read.

_Mr. Prime Minister:_

_You should be aware that as of 10 p.m. Greenwich Mean Time yesterday, December 23, a British aircraft carrying two atomic weapons is overdue on a training flight. This aircraft is now in the possession of this organization. The whereabouts of the aircraft and its weapons will be communicated to you in exchange for the equivalent of one hundred billion euros in gold bullion. Instructions for the delivery of the gold are contained in the attached memorandum._

_Failure to accept these conditions within seven days, that is, by 5 p.m. GMT on December 31__st__, will have the following consequences. Immediately after that date a piece of property belonging to the Western Powers, valued at not less than one hundred billion euros, will be destroyed. There will be loss of life. If our demands are not met at that time, there will ensue, within 48 hours, without further warning, the destruction of a major city in an unspecified country of the world. There will be very great loss of life._

_This is our final communication to you and to the President of the United States. We await your response._

_Sincerely,_

_Hueco Mundo_

The remainder of the packet contained lists of identifying numbers of the bombs and the aircraft, along with detailed instructions for delivery of the gold and a method to signal acquiescence to the terms. Ichigo looked up from the letter and blinked at Urahara.

"If the identification numbers on the bombs match, sir, I think this is the real thing, and not a hoax."

Urahara looked at him from under the brim of his hat. Ichigo noticed that his eyes were bloodshot and there were new lines on his face. "Yes. We think so too." He exhaled sharply. "The Home Secretary, Yamamoto, wants to agree to the demands. He doesn't want to risk the threat of nuclear weapons unleashed on the world."

Ichigo's eyes narrowed. "But if we give into this blackmail, sir, then no one will ever be safe. Every two-bit terrorist organization will start getting copycat ideas… and there are plenty of nuclear weapons scattered over the world in locations that might not be as secure as we like."

Urahara swiveled in his chair. "My feelings exactly. Which is why I'm putting all my best people on this case. We have to find and stop these people within the next few days, or the world will never be safe."

Ichigo glanced at the letter once again. "Do you have any information on this 'Hueco Mundo'?"

The blond grimaced. "Nobody's ever heard of them. We know there's a new, independent criminal organization working in Europe— they've been responsible for a couple of assassinations, the sale of some secret documents. We don't know their names, but it appears to be a very professional and ruthless organization. If it's the same one, they're a serious outfit, and I've informed the Home Secretary of this."

"What do you have to go on here?"

"Only a very slender thread. Really just a hunch. There's a Distant Early Warning radar plot that shows a plane turning off one of the east-west air channels over the Atlantic and heading towards the Bahamas. I put myself into the minds of Hueco Mundo—or rather, for there is certainly a mastermind behind this, into the mind of the leader of Hueco Mundo, my opposite number, so to speak, and I came to certain conclusions.

"The primary one is that the targets of these bombs are most likely in the United States. The Americans are rather more bomb-conscious than we are in Europe and so more susceptible to a threat of this type. The Bahamas, a group of largely uninhabited islands not too far off the coast of Florida, and possessed of much open area for a landing zone as well as being surrounded by shoal water and sand, lie within two hundred miles of the American coast and thus could provide a convenient base of operations."

Ichigo leaned back in his chair and frowned. "But don't you think this is too big an operation for an independent group? I'd guess it was more likely to be the Russians, who would love to get their hands on NATO equipment. All this Hueco Mundo blather could be window dressing."

Urahara shrugged. "It's just a hunch of mine, nothing more. I'll be sending a team to Russia as well. Any further comments?" He looked hard at Ichigo. "If not, I've got you booked on a flight to Nassau within the hour. You'll be a rich young man looking for some property in the islands. That'll give you plenty of excuses to poke around. You'll be meeting up with an operative from the CIA with a good set of communications and detection equipment. The Americans have more of that sort of machinery than we have. You've got a blank check on this one, 007. We're going all out to stop these people. And of course absolute secrecy. I don't have to warn you how severe the consequences could be if word gets out."

"Of course, sir." Ichigo stood up to go.

In Urahara's outer office, his personal assistant, a trim, dark-skinned woman with long purple hair, gave him a casual wave, her long, slender legs propped up on her desk as she filed her nails. Miss Yoruichi Shihoin looked every bit as laid back as Urahara, but was, like him, highly efficient, as Ichigo knew to his chagrin. He approached her desk.

"The old man looks rather in rough shape," he commented. "You better do something to take care of him, Shihoin."

The woman's grin faltered for a moment. "Don't worry," she asserted. "I've got it all under control. You just take care of yourself, all right, Kurosaki? This is a big one."

"Ah, it sounds like I'll just be sent on a wild goose chase." Ichigo gave an exaggerated sigh. "I'm just planning to get a good tan and have some fun on the government's dime for a change." He sauntered out of the room.

XxXxXxX

**A/N:** If you liked this beginning, please let me know in a review.

Happy Holidays to everyone!


	2. Chapter 2

**The Scarlet Creation – Chapter 2 **

**A/N: **In the grand Ian Fleming tradition, this chapter is mostly about the villain. ;) But we still see more of Ichigo's, Orihime's and Sora's backstories, and Ishida makes an entrance. As a reminder, this is an adventure story first; the romance is secondary.

**Warnings:** Obviously, some OOCness as all the nakama are adults and this entire story is a very different world, culturally, than Bleach.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Bleach_ by Tite Kubo, or _Thunderball_, _On His Majesty's Secret Service,_ or James Bond by Ian Fleming. I use quotes directly from _Thunderball_ in several scenes in this story. All characters are 18 or older in this story.

(Originally posted 1/18/12.)

XxXxXxX

On the _Las Noches_, a tall, elegantly dressed, brown-haired man moved purposefully down a long white corridor and down a flight of stairs. He was passing deep into the bowels of the vessel now, a vessel which was much more than she appeared. Like an iceberg, most of her bulk lay beneath the surface of the sea. The yacht had been built to his exacting specifications only within the past year. All the designers and any of the builders who knew of its secrets were dead now, so that there could be no possibility of betrayal. He had planned the vessel's construction, and the deaths of its designers, as meticulously as he planned everything else in his life.

Sousuke Aizen had been born to moderately wealthy parents, and had spent the first four years of his life in comfortable, even pampered surroundings. He was an only child. The accident which had taken away his parents as well as all their wealth had landed him in an orphanage at the age of four. His first reaction to his changed circumstances was that of any other child in his situation: storms of crying. Most children who grow up in orphanages quickly learn that crying does not bring the care and attention that children in loving households receive; any expression of distress is only a waste of energy. As a result, they stop crying. Even very young babies in orphanages rarely cry. Like many of the other orphans, the four-year-old Sousuke Aizen soon stopped crying and never cried again.

However, Aizen differed from other children in that he was possessed of an extraordinarily powerful intellect. As soon as he realized that all the old methods of obtaining what he wanted were no longer successful, rather than simply becoming passive and accepting the situation fatalistically, he determined at once to devise new methods to influence his surroundings. He began a minute and rational observation of the world around him that led him by age seven to the inescapable conclusion that the secret to obtaining resources in the world was control of other humans. He then set about an equally rational exploration of people's motivations, behavior, and psychology, with the result that within a few years he had developed a very effective system for manipulation and control of everyone in his vicinity.

This led him, by the age of twelve, to already be running a small organization within the orphanage that provided him with material goods and, even more importantly, a modicum of power within the institution. People, in his view, were simply resources that could be manipulated into acting in certain ways, ways that would always devolve to Aizen's advantage.

His intellect set him apart; when one thinks at a rate and depth that far exceed everyone else's, it leads to isolation. Not having parents to look out for him and find him suitable environments with companions of similar intellect, Aizen ended up with no friends, only minions and victims; nor did he have any desire for them. He had decided early on that as an adult, he would use his considerable intellectual abilities for one purpose and one purpose only: to get himself whatever he wanted, regardless of the consequences to others. He had observed how morals and ethics limited other people's actions, and decided that he himself would never be constrained by such limitations.

As he walked down the corridors of _Las Noches_, his mind was focused on the task ahead. He already had plenty of wealth, but he constantly craved more. Additionally, what he was working toward now was more than wealth: he wanted world-wide power and respect, and the means to grant any of his desires regardless of international law or custom. He had built a new organization for the single purpose of serving his own ambitions. This recent operation was but one step in his grander plans, plans that would see the entire world at his feet.

Aizen stopped at a sleek white door set in the wall of the ship. He keyed a passcode into the keypad beside the door and paused while an iris scanner located at precisely his own eye height glowed with infrared light. The door slid open noiselessly and Aizen entered.

He had arrived in a small control room holding several computers and a video display of a larger room beyond. Aizen stopped for a moment to type briefly at the keyboard and to scan the video displays. Satisfied that everything was in order, he moved to the door at the other end of the room. A full length mirror displayed his trim figure clad in an elegant white suit. He adjusted one lapel that was slightly out of position.

Then he stepped forward into the room beyond, a room full of dangerous, hungry wolves. His Espada; his handpicked colleagues and subordinates in a series of carefully calibrated and escalating crimes which would place him in a position of unassailable power in an increasingly networked world. The world had been divided into warring nations and factions too long. He, Sousuke Aizen, would fill the power vacuum at the top of the world, and soon he alone would stand at the top.

Every chair at the long white conference table was filled but one, the high-backed chair at its head. The faces of his Espada, numbered from one to ten, and his two lieutenants, Ichimaru and Tousen, were all turned to his in quiet expectation. They saw a man with thick brown hair swept back from a high, intellectual forehead, a single curl casually falling between deep brown eyes beneath elegant, slanted brows. His features were classically handsome, even beautiful; thick eyelashes ringing his long eyes; a lush, expressive mouth; and skin that was smooth and unmarked. Aside from his physical beauty, Aizen possessed a certain other quality, that of an almost hypnotic charisma, the ability to compel others to do his bidding. Whenever he entered a room, all eyes went to his face, seeking his attention, his approval. He was the center of every gathering. Part of it was doubtless due to the utter self-confidence with which he carried himself, a serenity that came from decades of unbroken success at whatever endeavors he undertook. But there was also no doubt that another part came from the unconscious fear of that hidden, dangerous part of him; the man who would stop at nothing to obtain whatever he wanted.

He stood before them now, immaculately dressed, his sharp, intelligent eyes flicking from one face to another, watching to see if each of his Espada met his eyes. Only one pair of eyes slid away from his. As he had suspected.

Each of the twelve men and women in the room had passed the most rigorous of qualification tests. Each had spent a lifetime in crime, yet had impeccable credentials and an unblemished cover. No hint of suspicion from the police had ever marred their records. Each was reputable in his or her own way, and each was highly dangerous, amoral, and ruthless. While extremely useful to him, they were strong enough to actually pose a threat to Aizen. As a result, he found interacting with them, facing off with them this way, exhilarating. The constant danger, the need to watch his own back, kept him alert and in prime mental condition. The human brain physically remodels itself as a result of daily stimuli, and he had long known that if he needed to continue his own mental growth, he needed constant stimulation. The danger posed by his subordinates kept him striving upwards even as he exerted tight control over each of them. And now it was time for another increment of psychological control.

He approached his seat without a word of greeting, waiting until he was seated and the central control panel had extended at his touch. Then he looked around at the individuals seated in the secured conference room, which was centrally located within the ship, highly instrumented, and heavily armored and guarded in more ways than one.

"Greetings, my dear Espada." His voice was deep and serene. "Phase One of our latest operation has been successfully completed. We now move on to Phase Two. But first, let's have some tea."

XxXxXxX

A taxi took Ichigo out to the airport at the other end of the island. He was to meet the American from the CIA there, due in on a plane from Washington DC that afternoon. He did not yet know the man's name, and hoped that he wasn't one of those muscle-bound men with a crew-cut and a desire to show up the incompetence of the British in order to gain credit with his superiors in the CIA. He had worked with a few Americans before, with mixed results.

Of course the most important point was that he bring the equipment Ichigo had asked for, the modern Geiger counters and the compact transmitters for radio communication. One of the primary virtues of the CIA, in Ichigo's opinion, was their excellent equipment, and Ichigo had no false pride in taking advantage of their collaboration in this area.

On the ride out to the airport, Ichigo reviewed the morning. He had arrived at 7 a.m. local time and had been taken immediately to the island governor's office. All the "Most Immediates" and "Top Secrets" had had something of an effect on the sleepy bureaucracy of the island, for he had been promised full cooperation. Nevertheless, as he met with the chief of police and chief of immigration in the governor's air-conditioned office, he received the distinct impression that his mission here was seen as something of a nuisance, something that should at all costs not be allowed to interfere with the important business of catering to rich tourists and making sure their stays were comfortable and happy.

The governor laid it out for Ichigo. "You see, Mr. Kurosaki, we have thought about this very carefully, and there is no way a four-engine aircraft could have landed anywhere in the islands. The only airport with a runway of sufficient length is here in Nassau. As to landing on the sea, we have been in radio contact with the radar operators on all the larger islands and the results have been negative."

Ichigo asked, "Are the radar stations manned around the clock? Is it possible that a landing could have been made at night?"

The Chief of Police, a forty-something man with an impeccable uniform, nodded. "I think Mr. Kurosaki could have a point there. The airport director informed me that he doesn't have the staff to fully man all the stations when there are no scheduled arrivals."

"Quite, quite." The governor seemed a bit unhappy at this admission of potential security holes in his arrangements. "I'm sure Mr. Kurosaki will be making his own inquiries then. Now, turning to the request for a list of recent arrivals in the islands, suspicious characters, and so forth." He indicated the chief of immigration, who stepped forward.

"There really has been nothing out of the ordinary, sir. The usual mix of tourists and businessmen. I have all the immigration forms for you here, Mr. Kurosaki, should you wish to examine them." He gestured toward a large briefcase at his feet.

"What I'm looking for," said Ichigo, "is a group. At least ten, but possibly more. They'll be quite respectable and will have very good credentials. They'll keep to themselves most of the time. They may have been here for months or maybe only a few days. They might claim to be attending a convention, or having a meeting, and have taken a block of rooms in one of the hotels. Have you had anything like that?"

"Well," the chief of immigration rubbed his moustache dubiously, "we have had the Moral Rearmament Group at the Emerald Wave and the Tiptop Biscuit people at the Royal Bahamian. Very respectable and normal, and they're all gone now."

"Exactly," said Ichigo patiently. "The group I'm looking for will appear quite normal. They will take pains not to appear flashy. Do you have any such groups still present on the island?"

"Ah," the chief of immigration smiled broadly. "Of course we've got our annual treasure hunt going on."

The governor gave a deprecating laugh. "Oh no, surely they couldn't be mixed up in this. I'm certain Mr. Kurosaki wouldn't want to waste time investigating a bunch of rich beachcombers."

The police chief, however, had lifted his eyebrows. "It's true, though, that they do have a yacht, and a small plane. They've come in recently, and keep to themselves. So they may fit Mr. Kurosaki's profile."

Ichigo had jumped at the tiny thread and had pursued it for a few hours that morning, wading through multiple files on the treasure hunters. Afterwards, he had gone walking through town to see if he could get a look at the man Aizen or any of his party, or perhaps pick up gossip. As a result, he had gotten a good look at Orihime Inoue. But now? It was still unclear to him whether there was anything there. As a matter of fact, it was a very flimsy thread, and Aizen and his group certainly had appeared extraordinarily respectable, with no hint of anything suspicious beneath the surface. Most likely this was, as he had suspected from the beginning, a wild goose chase in the Bahamas, and the real action was in Russia or somewhere else. Ichigo scowled.

The taxi had arrived at the airport. Ichigo went into the waiting room and bought a copy of the _New York Times._ The headlines were about the loss of the Vindicator, but there were no notes of undue alarm there or mention of nuclear weapons. He was reading through the article when he heard a quiet voice in his ear. "007?"

He swung around, his face splitting in a grin of surprise. "Ishida? What are you doing here? I thought you had retired and joined the Quincies."

"Shhh," Uryuu Ishida, Ichigo's CIA companion on many previous missions, was examining him with his usual look of cool disdain. "I'll tell you everything outside." He bent his head to his friend's. "Actually, I've been drafted."

Ichigo's eyes widened, and then his face fell back into its usual frown as they went to collect Ishida's heavy luggage and stand in line at the rental car counter. They chatted about nothing consequential, Ichigo simply feeling glad to have his friend as a partner on this job. Now, he could count on someone competent to have his back if things got sticky. At the very least, if it turned out to be a false alarm, the two of them could enjoy each other's company.

Once back at the hotel room, Ishida gave Ichigo the details. "When the news came down, the President ordered everyone back to active duty, just as though there were a war on." He frowned. "I was given twenty-four hours to report, sent to pick up a load of special equipment, and told to join you here. I certainly wasn't very happy about it. But I went down to Admin, got the gear you requested, packed the bow and arrows instead of the spade and bucket, and here I am." He turned to Ichigo. "Now you tell me what's happened."

Ichigo ran through the whole story, ending with, "So I think we should pay a visit to the _Las Noches_, and go from there. We've got to figure out if these people are hunting pieces of eight or a hundred billion dollars. Can you show me the Geiger counter you've got?"

Ishida pushed his glasses up his nose and turned to his luggage. He emerged carrying what looked like a typical tourist camera in a leather case and a watch he strapped to his wrist. He posed briefly. "See? I'm a normal tourist with a camera and watch." He unzipped the case. "Normal lenses and all that, even a button to press to take a picture. But inside, it's a miniaturized marvel of detection equipment with a metal valve, circuit, and batteries. It makes a wireless connection to this watch, which, by the way, really is a watch. But the sweep second hand is actually a meter that takes the radioactivity count."

Ichigo raised his eyebrows. The device was impressive and tiny, as to be expected from the CIA.

"The advantage," Ishida continued, "is that I can act like a nervous tourist, always glancing at my watch, as I walk around the target area. There won't be any clicking sound."

Ichigo nodded. "Good. That will serve us very well." He stood up. "Now, let's go hire ourselves a boat and go pay a call on the _Las Noches_."

XxXxXxX

Aizen waited until each of his subordinates had been served a cup of steaming tea. The leaves of this particular tea had been hand-selected from his personal gardens and were of astonishing quality. Even people who normally did not drink tea found his brews delicious.

Nevertheless, the tea ceremony was a test of sorts, one that provided him with minor amusement as well as serving a useful purpose. Once, he had weeded out a disloyal subordinate, who had been heard to make injudicious comments about his leader in an unguarded moment, by placing a small amount of cyanide in his tea. The hapless Espada had keeled over in a dramatic way at a similar conference table, in full view of all the others.

Since then, Aizen had noticed that even the most stalwart of his Espada sometimes betrayed a tic of nervous tension, or a thin sheen of sweat shimmering over the skin of their face and neck, just before the tea ceremony. He had noted that the evidence of tension was heightened in those who might have committed some small indiscretion or even a mere thought of disloyalty.

Aizen raised his cup to his lips, hiding a faint smile. The others all stared at their cups, then resolutely brought them to their lips. Not drinking was a certain indictment, and when a former number seven had attempted to avoid the tea ceremony, Aizen had, without changing his calm expression, thrown a knife unerringly at his throat from fifteen feet away.

The man was dead before he hit the table. After that, everyone else had always quietly drunk their tea.

Today, the tea drinking was proceeding without incident, except for Espada number six, a small, slender man with unevenly cut dark hair and an effeminate face. The man's hand was trembling slightly, a fact that Aizen noted idly. A flick of his finger over the control panel under the table showed number six's vital signs on a hidden monitor: heart rate elevated, galvanic skin response high and rising. Good. The increased sweating would make for better contact with the hidden electrodes.

He set his cup down on the saucer with a small clink. "Today we are to discuss our latest operation. However, I would like to briefly go over reports of this year's activities first. The shipment of diamonds from South Africa was successfully hijacked, and the stones disposed of by our Turkish section in Beirut. We netted ten point six million euros from this operation. The interception of ten thousand ounces of heroin in Naples, when sold to certain interests in Los Angeles, brought in just over twelve million dollars. The successful blackmail of the American senator with family ties to a terrorist organization yielded five million dollars. And the assassination of the French plutonium specialist who went over to China added, thanks to the importance of his knowledge and the fact that we got him before he had talked, forty million euros from the Deuxième Bureau."

He looked around the room once more. "Although each of our operations has been successful, I am certain you are all aware that the profits have been small compared to my estimation of the full potential of this organization." His voice was cool and uninflected. "The current profit levels I regard as barely adequate remuneration for members' services. Still," he went on, continuing his slow scrutiny of the individuals around the table, "I consider these operations as necessary exercises in coordination; a means of making certain the machinery of our organization is well-oiled, so to speak, before we go on to our real work." His eyes narrowed. "Additionally, they have provided us with the necessary operating capital to move into more sophisticated and profitable ventures." He looked down the table and said pleasantly, "Any questions?"

The twelve pairs of eyes, on this occasion all of them, gazed neutrally back at their leader. There was nothing to be said at this point. Each of them had at one point weighed the consequences of joining Aizen's organization, and for each of them the benefits had outweighed the downsides. They all knew the nature of the man sitting at the head of the table, and they all knew the power and wealth that attaching themselves to him would bring. Aizen was young; younger than most of them, but he had already made an indelible mark in the underground circles that these men and women were most familiar with. There was no one else with his combination of brilliance, ruthlessness, and ambition. It had become quite clear that those who joined him early would prosper; while those who set themselves against him would come to an inglorious end.

"Very good. And now to the most recent operation, completed only the past week." Aizen's eyes flicked over the group again and briefly down to his hidden readout. "As you are aware, this involved the kidnapping of the seventeen-year-old daughter of the owner of the world's largest chain of hotels. She was abducted from her father's hotel suite in Monte Carlo and taken by sea to Corsica. Ten million dollars ransom was demanded. Her father agreed to pay and the transfer of funds went smoothly, and the girl was then returned to her parents apparently suffering no ill effects. I say 'apparently' because from a source in the police commissariat at Nice, I now learn that the girl was violated during her captivity in Corsica." He gave a long, level look around the table. "This means that she was returned to her parents in a damaged condition, contrary to our contract with the family." His voice remained calm. "We are a large and powerful organization. I am not concerned with morals or ethics, but members are aware that I desire that Hueco Mundo shall conduct itself in a disciplined fashion. We have no discipline other than self-discipline. We are only as strong as our weakest member. You are all aware of my views in this matter." He glanced around the table one more time, and observed the sweat shining on the forehead of number six. "Regarding the culprit, I have satisfied myself that he is guilty. I have decided upon the appropriate action."

Under the table, Aizen's fingers flicked over a touchscreen, selected a series of buttons.

The body of Espada number six, seized in the iron fist of 3000 volts, arced in the armchair as if it had been kicked in the back. The uneven strands of black hair rose sharply straight up on his head and remained upright, a spiked fringe for the contorted, bursting face. The eyes glared wildly and then faded. Thin wisps of smoke rose from the middle of the back and under the thighs where the concealed electrodes in the chair had made contact. Then the body crumpled forward. It was all over.

Aizen's soft, even voice broke the silence. "I will ask the group to put forward recommendations for a replacement for number six. But that can wait until after completion of the current operation, now code-named the Scarlet Creation. On that matter, there are certain details that need to be discussed."

The remaining Espada looked back at Aizen and resolutely ignored the heap of death at one end of the table. None of them were strangers to Aizen's methods of discipline; indeed, many of them admired him specifically for his ruthlessness even though it did make serving under him nerve-wracking at times. They knew Aizen would not wish them to ponder the incident further. It was time to get back to business.

XxXxXxX

Aizen stood at the bow of the ship, watching as Ulquiorra and Orihime approached in a small dinghy. He let his eyes trail over Orihime's pleasing form, dispassionately noting that there was another small frown upon her face. He knew she was becoming displeased with her situation, and he had set Ulquiorra to watch her more closely. He had maneuvered her into believing that she was still staying with him of her own free will, but her consent had become less important now that her brother's part in the operation was over.

Still, he found her quite enjoyable. She was beautiful, and her innocence was a refreshing change from many of his previous lovers. He had found enticing her into his arms… and his bed… a delightful game. She was so trusting; she believed whatever he said.

He smirked. It was true that he was an accomplished liar. Nevertheless, at some point he always became bored of the game and started to drop clues to his partners. It was so entertaining to see the realization dawning in their eyes. With Orihime, he was reaching that point in the game now. But it had been a gratifying journey.

_In the luxurious owner's cabin at the bow of the ship, Aizen sat before a video screen. Espada number four, Ulquiorra Schiffer, stood before him. On the screen was a young woman with long auburn hair and sad grey eyes._

"_This is the woman I researched, Aizen-sama," said Ulquiorra. "I think you might find her useful. You see, her brother is a NATO pilot who regularly flies training runs out of one of our target airbases. "_

_Aizen's eyes dropped briefly to the dossier Ulquiorra had given him earlier. "Orihime Inoue…"_

"_Yes. She is here in Capri now."_

_The brown-eyed man looked up at the screen once more. The girl shifted her position and waved at someone off-screen, laughing. His speculative expression changed to a faint smile as more of her shapely figure was revealed. "Is she with anyone here?"_

"_No. Also, I believe she's about to run out of funds. Her parents died some time ago and left her with nothing."_

_Aizen lidded his eyes. "So much the better." He leaned back on the white satin couch. "Good job, Ulquiorra. I think she'll do quite nicely in many ways. Set up an 'accidental' meeting between us for tonight." His eyes were dark. "I want to make sure she goes with us when we weigh anchor tomorrow night. It's better if she comes willingly. But if she doesn't—" He glanced at Ulquiorra, his eyes cold. "Put together a backup plan to arrange her cooperation."_

"_At once, sir." Ulquiorra bowed and left the room._

_Alone once again in the spacious cabin, the brown-haired man turned to the second dossier Ulquiorra had brought, on the brother. As he read, he nodded to himself. Yes. Once again, Ulquiorra's work was flawless. This was the man he would use, and the woman would be the lever to move him. He would use them both, and when they were no longer useful, they would be efficiently eliminated._

XxXxXxX

Sora Inoue had been one of the new breed of pilots spearheading the NATO defenses, in his early twenties, calm and collected no matter what the situation. He loved flying and believed intensely in NATO objectives. Flying the Vindicator on a regular basis was a double pleasure, handling the controls of the responsive, powerful aircraft on missions that he firmly believed were protecting the safety of the free world.

Recently, however, his life had been upended. He had received the first message while on vacation in Naples. It had been slipped to him in a bar, and he had not registered the identity of the messenger. But when he unwrapped the tiny slip of paper and had seen the light blue hairpin fall out of it, his heart had clenched even before he saw the contents of the message.

Upon reading it, his worst fears were confirmed. Someone—the message was unclear who—was holding his sister Orihime. The letter purported to be from her, but it was nothing she would ever say.

Over the next few days, Sora was introduced to the task he was to perform, and his heart almost stopped with the horror of it. He met a man who called himself Grand Fisher, and the man laid out the instructions and the potential consequences to Orihime.

Sora was to hijack a plane, to fly it to a certain set of coordinates which would be given to him. He would be provided with a small canister of knockout gas which he would insert into the plane's oxygen system to incapacitate the rest of the crew. Then he would pilot the airplane according to a detailed set of instructions. Upon landing, he would be reunited with his sister and given forged passports, new identities, and sufficient funds for the two of them to disappear together. The unconscious crew would be placed in a lifeboat far away from the landing site.

If he failed to execute the plans precisely, his sister would be killed.

It was the utterly calm tone with which Grand Fisher delivered the message that terrified Sora the most. He had always thought of himself as a good person, as someone who cared about others. But at last he realized that someone, some evil and clever person, had realized his weakness. The unknown man who had taken control of his life had known exactly what it would take to break him, to turn him into a monster.

For Sora loved his young sister more than anything in the world. He had spent much of his early life protecting Orihime from their parents and their drunken rages. He had tried to keep her innocent and safe. When their parents had died in the accident, he had been consumed by both relief, that at last they were gone, and terror, that now he had to make his way in the world alone with his sister as his responsibility. He had scraped together enough money, taken out huge loans, to allow her to continue to attend the expensive boarding school their parents had sent her to, and to enable her to graduate with her class. He had hidden from Orihime how much he had gone into debt to support her. He wanted her to remain innocent.

But at last his profligate spending had caught up with him, and the loans had all come due. He had had to cut back on the extravagant allowance he sent Orihime. Left with very little, he had expected her to complain. But she had, with her unfailing goodness, instead comforted him and insisted she needed nothing. She would find her own way.

He had not known how she would be able to do it, but he had acquiesced.

Now he realized his error. Somehow, Orihime, unprotected and vulnerable, had fallen into the hands of an evildoer. Sora bowed his head. He had no choice. To save his sister, he also had to do evil. And then he and Orihime had to run away, shamefully, from a terrible crime. He was not sure why Grand Fisher and his employer wanted an airplane. He only knew that for the first time in his life, he would have to act against his morals.

In the quiet of his room that night, Sora grimly laid out the accoutrements for his task. When he went to the airfield the next day, it would be for the last time.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Scarlet Creation – Chapter 3 **

**A/N: **It's been a while but I got inspired to continue by seeing the new 007 movie.

**Warnings:** Obviously, some OOCness as all the nakama are adults and this entire story is a very different world, culturally, than Bleach. Aizen is pure villain in this story, more evil than I usually write him and a complete antagonist. He's quite repulsive in this chapter. Ichigo is more worldly and Orihime is darker in this story because of events that have transpired in her life. In this chapter, there's one-sided AiHime (nothing explicit) and angst.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Bleach_ by Tite Kubo, or _Thunderball_, _On His Majesty's Secret Service,_ or James Bond by Ian Fleming. I use quotes directly from _Thunderball_ in several scenes in this story. All characters are 18 or older in this story.

(Originally posted 12/11/12.)

XxXxXxX

The early morning sun glittered off the whitecaps as the _Las Noches_ sliced through the balmy waters of the open sea. On the bow, a man and woman sat at a table draped with a fine linen tablecloth. The man was wearing a white silk robe casually draped over dark magenta swim trunks, exposing a strip of well -toned chest. His glossy mahogany hair was still damp from his dawn swim, one curl hanging between his eyes. He forked up another bite of fresh lobster, then lifted a delicate crystal flute to his lips and sipped the fine champagne with an air of satisfaction. It had been a pleasurable night with a beautiful although increasingly reluctant woman. He eyed her with an amused possessiveness. Her… recalcitrance… had added a bit of spice to the evening's recreation. He set the glass down, a serene expression on his face. And as to his business operations, all was going according to plan.

The woman was pale, and there were shadows under her eyes. Her thick auburn hair fell uncombed over her bare shoulders. Two long locks fell over the swell of her ample bosom, creating a sharp contrast with her navy blue bikini. The shapely lines of her body were clearly visible under a translucent robe. She picked listlessly at the food in front of her and set the heavy silver fork down, averting her eyes from the man.

Orihime had had a sleepless night. She had finally admitted to herself just what kind of man she had chosen to give herself to these past few weeks, and what especially galled her was that she had gone to him of her own free will. She had not heard from her brother in over a week, and she was wondering if Aizen would even let her contact him. She had just come to the conclusion that her best chance might be to hope that he would become bored of her and let her go soon.

There was a commotion at one of the stairways leading up onto the deck, and two men in white sailor's uniforms appeared, dragging a third between them. Aizen watched them approach with no expression on his face.

The taller of the two, a lanky man with stringy black hair and an unpleasant grin, inclined his head slightly. "Aizen-sama, we found this man in the stern cabin laying out an antenna and apparently trying to signal the mainland. He won't say what he was doing."

Aizen raised his eyebrows, then turned to Orihime and said with impeccable politeness, "My dear, I think it's best if you go below now."

Earlier in the voyage, she might have pouted and tried to sweet-talk the man into letting her stay, believing that calm, polite voice meant that he was in a good mood. Now, however, from bitter experience, she had learned that Aizen's apparent serenity meant nothing, and that if she attempted to disobey his slightest whim, he would somehow find a way to punish her for it.

As she obediently rose from the table, Aizen placed a possessive hand on her bare thigh below the hem of the bikini. Noting her almost imperceptible flinch, his eyes glittered. "Get yourself ready for me, my dear," he purred, and was amused as a slight flush rose on her cheeks. She averted her eyes and hurried away. His gaze lingered on her shapely rear as she retreated, a small smile still curling his lips.

Orihime, her breathing tight now, forced herself to walk slowly and deliberately, doing all she could to keep herself from running out of Aizen's presence. She opened the door and started down the stairs. Halfway down, she abruptly paused and turned back. Creeping back up to the glass-paned door, she eased it open a crack so she could see and hear what was going on.

Aizen was reclining in his seat, his face blank, his dark eyes focused on the man, whom the others had forced into a kneeling position before him. "My congratulations. I thought I had an airtight system of background checks in place, yet you somehow managed to sneak onto my crew." His voice was calm and light. Hearing his tone, Orihime shivered. She was coming to understand exactly what that tone meant. There was a long pause during which the man's ragged breathing could be heard above the waves slapping the side of the ship. Leisurely, Aizen took another sip of his champagne. "You are going to tell me everything now. Your real name, whom you work for, what you have learned of my plans, and anything that might be useful to me." His voice turned chill. "Begin."

The prisoner glared at him but said nothing. The lanky man grinned and leaned over him, his hands busy. Orihime didn't see what he did, but the prisoner convulsed and let out a sharp, gasping scream. Aizen's dark eyes bored into him. "This is nothing," he said almost conversationally. "Nnoitra is extraordinarily adept at the elicitation of pain. I think you will find it far easier—on yourself— if you simply answer my questions." His voice was kind and gentle. "Now, let's start with your real name." He lifted his glass to his lips and took another long sip, the picture of relaxed amusement.

There was another long-drawn-out scream from the captive. Shuddering, Orihime eased the door shut and hurried back to the luxurious cabin below decks. She briefly wondered if she could do anything to help the man, then flushed with shame as she realized she was too afraid. Aizen did not take betrayal lightly, and she had to admit to herself that she was completely in his power. She was only allowed to leave the ship under guard, under the guise of the "bodyguard" being there for her "protection."

"Coward," she berated herself as she flung herself down on the huge, soft bed. "Stupid."

It was a luxurious prison. She was a bird in a gilded cage. She had made a terrible mistake. She had to figure out how to get away.

But then… she stared helplessly at the small picture of Sora she kept in her boudoir… what would happen to her brother? Aizen knew where he was… indeed, her only means of communication with her beloved brother was through Aizen's ship-to-shore radio, kept in a secured cabin on the upper deck. A renewed flood of mortification swept through her. She had led Aizen to Sora. Hot tears dripped on the elegant satin bedcovers. It was all her fault. If she had not been so shallow as to fall for Aizen's facile charms, neither she nor Sora would be in danger.

But now… she didn't know what to do. The ache in her chest seemed almost overwhelming. She walked into the gleaming chrome-and-glass bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. It was, as might be expected, well stocked with legal and illegal medications. Aizen had encouraged her to use anything she wanted for her comfort or pleasure. Her cheeks burned again as she once again realized how self-indulgent she had been, falling into a dissipated lifestyle and living in a haze of hedonism and sensuality, ignoring what should have been obvious to her from the beginning. Aizen had never remarked on the times she had been so inebriated from a cocktail of drugs and alcohol that she could barely stand.

Of course, she acknowledged to herself bitterly, not that he cared as long as she was awake enough to spread her legs.

She stared at the pill bottle in her hand. One of these, and she would no longer care about anything. Two, and she would be dead to the world for twelve hours.

There was a long pause as part of her yearned for the welcome numbness the little blue pill would bring. Then she threw the bottle back into the cabinet and slammed the door. No. She was done with running away. She would keep her mind clear, and find a way—for both her and Sora— to escape from Aizen's clutches.

As she returned to the bedroom and stared grimly out the porthole at the glittering sea, her brow furrowed and a gleam of angry determination lit her eyes. She would escape, and on the way out she would do as much damage as she could to Aizen's operation, whatever it was.

Perhaps, she mused, the rich young man she had met in the casino might offer a way out. She bit her lip. It was uncharacteristic of her to think of using people, but, she thought bitterly, she was no longer a sweet innocent. Aizen had seen to that. Not only by making her an accomplice to his crimes. A flush came over her face as she remembered some of the activities he had introduced her to in that luxurious bed. She pushed down the feelings of embarrassment and fear. She was now a brazen, hard, woman of the world who used sex to get what she wanted. And what she wanted now was freedom for herself and Sora.

She wiped a tear away from her face. It was time to stop acting like a damsel in distress, waiting for a hero to rescue her. She would make her own heroism.

No one messed with the Inoues.

XxXxXxX

Ishida led Ichigo out to the hotel launch, a Chrysler-engined speedboat that could be rented for a fee that would seem modest to the rich men they were pretending to be. They ran out toward the west from the harbor, past Balmoral Island, coming at last to the gleaming white ship lying at anchor in the deep water just outside the reef. Ishida whistled. "My, what an impressive boat! That would be fun to play with."

Ichigo said, "She's Spanish. Built by a firm that has since gone out of business, apparently she can do fifty knots in calm water, carrying upwards of a hundred passengers. This one was custom-designed to the owner's specifications. Since the company's now bankrupt, I couldn't get a hold of the design specs. But it must've cost several million dollars."

The blank portholes of the ship watched them approach. A sailor polishing brass on the bridge walked through a hatch and Ichigo could see him talking into a microphone. A tall, brown-haired man in white appeared on deck and observed them through binoculars. He said something to the sailor, who came and stood at the top of the ladder on the starboard side. When their launch came alongside, the sailor cupped his hands and called down, "What is your business, please? Have you an appointment?"

Ichigo called back, "My name is Kurosaki, Ichigo Kurosaki. A visitor to the island. I have my attorney here. I have an inquiry to make about Aizen-san's property."

"One moment, please." The sailor disappeared and returned accompanied by the man in white. Ichigo recognized him from the customs file.

The man called down genially, "You're welcome to come aboard, Mr. Kurosaki." He gestured for the sailor to go down and secure the launch to the ship. Ichigo and Ishida climbed out of the launch and up the ladder.

Up close, Aizen was even more handsome than in his photo. His tousled brown bangs fell casually over square glasses. He held out a hand. "My name is Sousuke Aizen."

"This is Uryuu Ishida, my attorney from New York." They shook hands. "I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Aizen, but it's about the estate that you rent on the island. I'm looking to buy property here."

"Ah, yes, of course." The deep brown eyes focused on him, and Ichigo felt the power of his presence like a physical force. Aizen's smile, however, was open and welcoming; it immediately put one at ease and Ichigo had to remind himself to stay on guard. Even if it was unlikely that this man was the individual he was seeking, his job was to follow up even an improbable thread. Those were Urahara's instructions.

Aizen continued, "Come on down to the stateroom, gentleman." He ushered them through a low hatch and down a few aluminum steps into the main cabin. The rubber-lined hatch hissed to behind them.

It was a large cabin paneled in mahogany with a soft white carpet and comfortable white leather club chairs. The sun shone through slats of venetian blinds and onto a long center table littered with papers and charts. The air-conditioning made the cabin deliciously cool, and Ichigo felt the sweat on his shirt slowly start to evaporate.

"Please take a seat, gentleman." Aizen carelessly brushed aside the papers on the table as if they were of no importance. "May I offer you something to drink? You must have had a hot journey in that open launch. I would have sent my boat for you if only I had known."

Ichigo said, "I'm very sorry to barge in like this, but we just got in this morning, and since I'll only be here a few days I have to move fast. I understand the real estate market is quite hot here."

"Oh, yes." Aizen brought glasses to the table and sat down next to Ichigo. "You've got the right idea. This is a wonderful place. I've only been here for a few months and already I'd like to stay forever. But I'm only renting."

"Yes, exactly. I heard that you might be leaving, and I understand that the owner, Mr. Barragan, might be willing to sell for the right price. But what I was going to ask you" – Ichigo looked apologetic – "was whether we might drive out and look the place over. Sometime when you weren't there of course. Any time that might suit you."

Aizen smiled warmly and sunlight glinted off his glasses. "Of course, my dear sir. Whenever you wish. There is no one in residence but my young ward and a few servants. And she is out most of the time. Please just call her up on the telephone. I shall tell her that you will be doing so. It is quite a charming property."

Ichigo got to his feet and Ishida followed suit. "Well, that's very kind of you, Mr. Aizen. And now we'll leave you in peace. Perhaps we'll meet again in the town sometime." Ichigo smiled politely. "But with a yacht like this, I don't suppose you ever want to come ashore. I've never seen a ship quite like this." There was open admiration in his tone.

Aizen smiled with pleasure and pride. "Yes, this ship is a wonderful design."

"Sleek and fast, but I suppose it's not that roomy?"

Aizen's smile faded slightly, and he said with a trace of pricked vanity, "No, no. I think that you will find that it's the opposite. You have heard, no doubt, of our treasure hunt?" His eyes looked at them sharply. "With my associates and the crew, there are forty of us. You will see that we are not cramped." He gestured to the door in the rear of the stateroom. "Would you like to see?"

Ishida demurred. "You remember, Mr. Kurosaki, that we have that meeting at five o'clock?"

Ichigo waved the objection aside. "I'm sure that they won't mind if we're a few minutes late. I'd love to see the ship if you can spare the time, Mr. Aizen."

Aizen said, all charming persuasion, a man who delighted in showing off his toys, "Come. It will not take more than a few minutes." He went to the door and held it open.

Ichigo had been expecting the politeness. It would interfere with Ishida and his apparatus. He said firmly, "Please go first, Mr. Aizen. You will be able to tell us when to duck our heads."

With more affabilities, Aizen led the way. They entered a long white corridor with cabin doors on both sides, passed through a galley where two cooks in white aprons and chef's hats were busily chopping vegetables, and stopped in the large engine room where the chief engineer and his mate talked enthusiastically about the powerful twin diesels and the hydraulics.

When they moved to the afterdeck, Ichigo, estimating the ship's displacement, said casually, "And the hold? More cabin space?"

"Just storage. And the fuel tanks of course. She is an expensive ship to run. We have to carry several tons. The ballast problem is important with this ship. We have two large lateral tanks to shift fuel back and forth as necessary." Talking fluently and expertly, Aizen led them back up the starboard passageway. They were about to pass the radio room when Ichigo said, "You said you had ship-to-shore radio. What else do you carry? The usual Marconi short and long wave, I suppose. Could I have a look? Radio has always fascinated me."

Aizen said politely, "Some other time, if you don't mind. I'm keeping the operator full time on meteorological reports. They are rather important to us at the moment."

"Of course."

They climbed back up on deck. "So there you are," said Aizen. "The good ship _Las Noches_. I hope you two will be able to come back for a short cruise one of these days. At the present," he gave a charming smile with the hint of a secret shared, "as you may have heard, we are rather busy."

"Very exciting, this treasure business. Do you think you've got a good chance?"

"We like to think so." Aizen was deprecating. "I only wish I could tell you more." He waved an apologetic hand. "Unfortunately, my lips must be sealed. I hope you understand."

"Yes, of course. You have your shareholders to consider. I only wish I was one so that I could come along. I suppose there's no room for another investor?"

"Alas, no. We are fully subscribed. I'm very sorry. It would have been most pleasant to have you along." Aizen held out a hand. "Well, I see that Mr. Ishida has been looking anxiously at his watch during our brief tour. I should not keep you from your appointment any longer. It has been a great pleasure to meet you both."

As they rode in the launch on their way back to shore, Ishida shook his head. "Absolutely negative. Reaction around the engine room in the radio room, but that's normal. It was all damnably normal. What did you make of him and the whole setup?"

"Same as you – damned normal. He looks what he says he is, and behaves that way." Ichigo shook his head. "But didn't you think it was odd that we didn't see any of those shareholders? They couldn't all have been having siestas. And then there was all that missing space we weren't shown. That talk about fuel and ballast sounded a bit glib to me."

Ishida frowned. "I agree with you there. There's at least half of that ship we didn't see. But then again there's a perfectly good answer to that. He may have secret treasure hunting gear he doesn't want us to see."

Ichigo mused, gazing out at the shoreline studded with glittering estates. "They were anchored in about forty feet of water. If they had the bombs buried in the sand beneath, would your Geiger counter have registered?"

"Doubt it. I've got an underwater model and we could go and have a sniff around when it gets dark. But really, Ichigo," Ishida frowned impatiently, "there's not much to go on. Don't you think this is another blind alley and we should look somewhere else? I know my chief would call me an idiot if I put any of this in a report."

"Well," Ichigo's voice was stubborn. "There's a damned fast ship with a plane and forty people no one knows anything about. There's not another group or even an individual in the area who looks in the least promising. All right, so the outfit looks all right and its story seems to stand up. But just supposing the whole thing was a phony. Take another look at the picture. These so-called shareholders all arrived just in time to be here when the plane went missing. On that night the _Las Noches_ went to sea and stayed out till morning. Just suppose she picked up the bombs and put them away somewhere safe and convenient? What sort of picture do you get?"

Ishida shrugged sardonically. "I suppose there's just enough to make it a lead. So what's on your mind? What comes next?"

"Why don't you get our communications set up, and I'm going to check with Interpol on the backgrounds of these people. Then we'll call up this Orihime girl and try and get ourselves asked for a drink and have a quick look at Aizen's shore base – this estate. Then we go to the casino and try to get a look at the rest of Aizen's group. After that –" Ichigo looked stubbornly at Ishida – "I'm going to get an aqualung and your underwater Geiger counter, and have a sniff around that ship at night."

Ishida said laconically, "Well, I'll go along with it, Ichigo. Just for old times' sake. But truthfully?" He shrugged. "I think we're just going to be twiddling our thumbs on the taxpayers' nickel. This is turning out to be just as much of a vacation as I expected I'd see when I retired."


	4. Chapter 4

**The Scarlet Creation – Chapter 4 **

**A/N: yvonnebetheshiz** wrote a review asking me to continue, so here is another chapter. Since I have this entire story already outlined, it shouldn't be too hard to finish it quickly if there's interest.

**Warnings:** Obviously, some OOCness as all the nakama are adults and this story is a very different world, culturally, than Bleach. Aizen is pure villain in this story and more evil than I usually write him.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Bleach_ by Tite Kubo, or _Thunderball_, _On His Majesty's Secret Service,_ or James Bond by Ian Fleming. I use quotes directly from _Thunderball_ in several scenes in this story. All characters are 18 or older in this story.

**Note and further disclaimer:** Most of this chapter is taken directly from the book _Thunderball_, since I know nothing about casinos or gambling. Don't worry; I will be more original in future chapters.

(Originally posted 8/31/14.)

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The Governor had presented Ichigo and Ishida with membership cards to the Nassau Casino, and after they had a drink at the bar they separated and went to the tables.

Aizen was playing baccarat. He had a fat pile of hundred-dollar and thousand-dollar chips in front of him. Orihime sat behind him, her face beautifully made up and expressionless, watching the play. Ichigo observed the game from the other side of the room. Aizen was playing smoothly and calmly, winning steadily, but with excellent manners, and by the way people joked with him and applauded his wins he was obviously a favorite in the Casino. Orihime, in black with a low-cut neckline and with a large diamond on a thin chain at her throat, seemed tense and grim to Ichigo. When the man at Aizen's right, having bancoed him three times and lost, got up and left the table, Ichigo went quickly across the room and slid into the empty place. It was a bank of eight thousand dollars.

It is good for the banker when he has got past the third banco. It often means the bank is going to run. Ichigo knew this perfectly well. He was also painfully aware that he only had ten thousand dollars to bet. But the fact that everyone was so nervous of Aizen's luck made him bold. And, after all, the table has no memory. Luck, he told himself, is strictly for the birds. He said, "Banco."

"Ah, my good friend Mr. Kurosaki." Aizen held out a hand. "Now we have the big money coming to the table. Perhaps I should pass the bank. The English know how to play. But still" – he smiled charmingly – "if I have to lose I would certainly like to lose to Mr. Kurosaki."

The elegant, slim hand gave the shoe a soft slap. Aizen eased out the pink tongue of playing card and moved it across the baize to Ichigo. He took one for himself and then pressed out one more for each of them. Ichigo picked up his first card and flicked it face up into the middle of the table. It was a nine, the nine of clubs. Ichigo glanced sideways at Aizen. He said, "That is always a good start – so good that I will also face my second card." He casually flicked it out to join the nine. It turned over in mid-air and fell beside the nine. It was a glorious ten, the ten of diamonds. Unless Aizen's two cards also added up to nine or nineteen, Ichigo had won.

Aizen chuckled, but there was an underlying edge to it. "You certainly make me try," he said softly. He threw his cards to follow Ichigo's. They were the eight of spades and the king of hearts. Aizen had lost by one, the cruelest way to lose. Aizen smiled politely. "Somebody had to be second," he said to the table at large. "What did I say? The English can pull what they like out of the shoe." A wave of laughter followed his words. People's attention sharpened: a challenger to the reigning champion was always intriguing.

The croupier pushed the eight thousand dollars in chips across to Ichigo, who made a small pile of them. He gestured to the heap in front of Aizen. "So, it seems, can you. I told you this afternoon we should go into partnership."

Aizen laughed genially. "Well, let's just try once again. Put in what you have won and I will banco it in partnership with Mr. Rureaux on your right. Yes, Mr. Rureaux?"

Mr. Rureaux, a tough-looking European who, Ichigo remembered, was one of the shareholders, agreed. Ichigo put in the eight thousand and they each put in four against him. Ichigo won again, this time with a six against a five for the table – once more by one point.

Aizen raised an eyebrow. "Now indeed we have seen the writing on the wall. Mr. Rureaux, you will have to continue alone. This Mr. Kurosaki has green fingers against me. I surrender."

Now Aizen was smiling only with his mouth. Mr. Rureaux pushed forward sixteen thousand dollars to cover Ichigo's stake. Ichigo thought: I have made sixteen thousand dollars in two games. And it would be fun to pass the bank and for the bank to go down on the next hand. He withdrew his stake and said, "Pass." There was a buzz of comment.

Aizen said, "Don't tell me the bank's going to go down on the next hand. If it does I don't know what I'm going to do. Very well, I will buy Mr. Kurosaki's bank and we will see." He threw some chips out onto the table – sixteen thousand dollars' worth.

Ichigo lowered his eyebrows and with a voice of quiet determination said banco once again. He was bancoing his own bank – telling Aizen that he had done it to him once, then twice, and now he was going to do it, inevitably, again.

Aizen turned around to face Ichigo. Smiling with his mouth, he narrowed his eyes and looked carefully, with a new curiosity, at Ichigo's face. He said quietly, "But you are hunting me, my dear fellow. You are pursuing me. Why?"

Ichigo said lightly, "I thought your luck was on the turn. Perhaps I was wrong." He gestured at the shoe. "Let's see."

The table had gone quiet. The players and spectators felt that a tension had come between the two men. Suddenly there was a smell of enmity where before there had been only jokes. A glove had been thrown down, by the Englishman. Was it about the girl? Probably. The crowd licked its lips.

Aizen stared at Ichigo for a moment, his face expressionless. Then, like a light, he switched his polite, friendly demeanor back on. He tapped the shoe. "All right, my friend. We will play for the best out of three. Here comes the third."

Quickly his first two fingers flicked out the four cards. The table had hushed. Ichigo faced his pair inside his hand. He had a total of five – a ten of spades and a five of diamonds. Five is a marginal number. One can either draw or not. Ichigo folded the cards face down on the table. He said, with the confident look of a man who has a six or a seven, "No card, thank you."

Aizen's eyes narrowed as he tried to read Ichigo's face. He turned up his cards, flicked them into the middle of the table with a gesture of disgust. He also had a count of five. Now what was he to do? Draw or not draw? He looked again at the quiet smile of confidence on Ichigo's face – and drew. It was a nine, the nine of clubs. By drawing another card instead of standing on his five and equaling Ichigo, he now had a four to Ichigo's five.

Impassively Ichigo turned up his cards. "It looks like your luck really has turned."

There was a buzz of comment around the table. "But if he had stood on his five…" "I always draw on a five." "I never do." "It was bad luck." "No, it was bad play."

Aizen's face was neutral, but everyone could feel the tension in his glittering eyes as he faced Ichigo. "You have taken all my winnings. I have a hard evening's work ahead of me just when I was going to take my ward for a drink and a dance." He turned to Orihime. "My dear, I don't think you know Mr. Kurosaki, but I'm afraid he has upset my plans. You must find someone else to squire you."

Ichigo said, "How do you do. Didn't we meet in the club this morning?"

Orihime's eyes darted away. "Yes? It's possible. I have a bad memory for faces."

Ichigo said, "Well, could I buy you a drink? I can afford it now, thanks to the generosity of Mr. Aizen."

The woman stood up from the table, with what looked to Ichigo like a carefully-constructed insouciant smile on her face. She turned to Aizen. "Sousuke, perhaps if I take this Mr. Kurosaki away, your luck will turn again. I will be in the supper room having caviar and champagne. We must try and get as much of your funds as we can back in the family."

Aizen laughed at her words. His spirits had returned. He said, "You see, Mr. Kurosaki, you are out of the frying pan into the fire. In Orihime's hands you may not fare so well as in mine. See you later, my dear fellow."

Ichigo rose from the table and followed Orihime, threading his way through the crowded casino floor toward the supper room. Walking behind her, Ichigo noticed for the first time that she had the smallest trace of a limp.

Orihime chose a shadowed table in the farthest corner of the room. When the Cliquot rosé and five hundred dollars' worth of Beluga caviar came – anything less, he had commented to her, would be no more than a spoonful – he asked her about the limp. "Did you hurt yourself swimming today?"

She looked away. "It's nothing – I twisted an ankle slightly walking on the beach this afternoon."

Ichigo frowned. He reached out to touch a bruise just peeping out from under her décolletage. "And did you get this from a fall too?"

She looked directly at him. "I wonder what you must think of me," she said slowly.

Ichigo returned her gaze. "Do you really want to know?"

She offered up a smile, but there was a hint of pleading underneath. "Of course I do. Tell me, but make it sound true, otherwise I shall stop listening."

"I think you're a young girl, younger than you pretend to be, younger than you dress. I think you were carefully brought up, in a red-carpet sort of way, and then the red carpet was suddenly jerked away from under your feet and you were thrown more or less in the street. So you picked yourself up and started to work your own way back up. I think you decided to use your body rather than rely on charity, but in order to do so you had to turn away from your inner heart." He touched her lightly on the arm as her large gray eyes begin to glimmer. "But I don't think it's gone forever. It's only buried. And now you've got the material things. But maybe you've got almost too much of them." He smiled. "But I mustn't get too serious. Now about the smaller things. You know all about them, but just for the record, you're beautiful, sexy, independent, and cruel."

She sipped her drink. "That's not so clever. I told you most of it already. But why do you say I'm cruel?"

"If I was gambling and I took a knock like Aizen did and I had my woman, a woman, sitting near me watching, and she didn't give me one word of comfort I would say she was being cruel. Men don't like failing in front of their women."

She fiddled with her napkin. "I've had to sit there too often and watch him show off. I wanted you to win. I won't pretend to you. When I told you earlier he was my guardian, I was telling a white lie." She looked down. "I am his kept woman." She sighed softly. "And I have only finally realized he wants women for use, not for love. It's not what I wanted for myself, but at this point I don't really have a choice."

"You always have a choice," Ichigo told her. He looked at her carefully.

She tightened her lips. "I made a bargain, and I have to keep it. But I –" She stopped abruptly. "Give me some more champagne. All this silly talking has made me thirsty. And – I would like you to buy me a packet of Players."

He raised his eyebrows. "I didn't know you smoked."

She laughed, her demeanor suddenly light. "I don't – not anymore. I quit years ago. But I need my Hero."

He returned with a packet of cigarettes. "What's that about a hero?"

She had entirely changed. Her bitterness had gone, and the lines of strain on her face. She had softened. "Ah, you don't know about the man of my dreams. The sailor on the front of the packet of Players. You have never thought about him as I have." She moved closer to him on the seat and showed him the packet. "You don't understand the romance of this wonderful picture. This man" – she pointed – "was the first man I ever loved. I took him into the woods, I loved him in the dormitory. In exchange he introduced me to the great world outside the Cheltenham Ladies College. He grew me up. He put me at ease with boys of my own age. He kept me company when I was lonely or afraid of being young. He encouraged me, gave me assurance." She took his arm eagerly. "Let me tell you the story of my Hero, the man in the picture. At first he was a young man, on that sailing ship here behind him in the picture. It was a hard time for him, hardly anything to eat, nothing but backbreaking labor from dawn till dusk. But he persevered." She hesitated, looked sidelong at him. "Are you listening to me? You're not bored having to listen about my hero?"

"I'm only jealous. Go on."

"So he went all over the world – to India, Japan, America. He had many girls and many fights with cutlasses and fists. He wrote home regularly to his mother in Dover. She wanted him to come home and meet a nice girl and get married. But he wouldn't. You see, he was keeping himself for a dream girl who looked rather like me. But after many years at sea, he finally decided to leave the Navy. He had been saving up his pay and so he came back and bought a pub at Bristol." She was smiling vaguely now, gazing off into the far distance.

Ichigo wanted to keep her mood. "But how did the cigarette people get ahold of the Hero's picture?"

"Oh, well, you see one day a man with a stovepipe hat and a frock coat came into the Hero's pub. Here." She held the packet sideways. "That's him, John Player and Sons. Now this Mr. Player was in the tobacco business and cigarettes had just been invented and he wanted to start making them. But he didn't know what to call them or what sort of picture to put on the packet. And when he saw the Hero in his pub he got a wonderful idea. He offered him a hundred pounds to let his picture be copied for the cigarette packet. And the Hero didn't mind and anyway he wanted just exactly a hundred pounds to get married on." She paused. Her eyes were far away. "She was very nice, by the way, a good cook and very sweet and innocent and she took care of him until he died many years later. And she bore him two children, a boy and a girl."

She sighed and seemed to return from her fantasy world. She said in a different voice, "Well, thank you anyway for having listened to the story. I know it's all a fairy tale. At least I suppose it is. But children can be silly that way. They like to have something to keep under the pillow until they're quite grown up – a rag doll or a small toy or something. I know boys are just the same. My brother hung onto a little metal charm his nanny had given him until he was nineteen. Then he lost it. I shall never forget the scenes he made. Even though he was in the Air Force by then and it was the middle of the war. He said it brought him luck." She blinked her eyes several times.

"What's he doing now, your brother? Is his last name Inoue too?"

"Yes, Sora Inoue." She smiled through her bright eyes. "He has some high-up flying job now. Very hush-hush. I haven't heard from him in months. But he's the only family I've got." She turned to Ichigo. "I love him. You understand what it means to love your family, don't you?"

Ichigo looked at her, a small frown creasing his forehead. "Yes, I understand completely."

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**A/N: **Were the characters all too OOC?

a) Yes, too OOC.

b) No, I like them fine.

c) I liked this chapter; please continue!

d) I didn't like this chapter.


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